


The Monster’s heart

by sithclare



Category: Tyranny (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27350644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sithclare/pseuds/sithclare
Summary: 'And you must understand the real meaning of the affair. You must remember who he is and what he is good at.'English translation of my Korean work.
Relationships: Fatebinder/Voices of Nerat
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	The Monster’s heart

**Author's Note:**

> This is an English translation of my Korean work(https://sithclare.postype.com/post/6326410). I used the online free translator and only fixed some important errors. So the quality of the translation is a bit suspicious. But I hope you enjoy :)

It is foolish to attach human faces to monsters.

Throw away the hope that everyone’s words and actions have the story you want. We fatebinders are educated that shouldn’t naively imagine the human behind the testimony because human heart is deep, and their lip is insidious. But despite the long-suffering training, now you are fighting the urge to humanize a monster.

You wish he is the person you wish he is. You wish he has the motive you want he has. You, who can’t let go of that foolish hope, repeating the one foolish memory between him and you for days and days.

The gist of that day's memory is simple. It was late in the evening when you arrived at the Chorus camp a week ago and in the middle of the night, you fell asleep while writing your journal alone in the small office tent attached to the guest tent. Wandering the edge of shallow sleep, you suddenly feel the shadows cast over you, the air warmed by the tumbling flames, and sensed the surface of the worn-out leather gloves that quietly pass the hairs scattered on your cheeks. The Archon of Secrets looked down at you asleep and quietly stroked your cheek.

And you must understand the real meaning of the affair. You must remember who he is and what he is good at.

You summon the smartest person you know to the stage of mind for a lesson. She, the judge among the judges, approaches in nice leather boots. The imaginary Callio looks at you with pathetic eyes: as if you were the daughter of a farmhouse packing your bags under the enticement of a slave trader disguised as a warmly vegetable farmer... oh you so innocent and fragile. You gasp in shame of being contempt.

But it is still not enough. You must put more specific memories on the stage to push yourself.

*

That day was a year and a half before the start of the Conquest of Tiers. Because Rogalus was already out on the Tiers, Nunoval and Callio are sitting across from your desk on the task of teaching the formation of the Imperial Army. Straight rain falls outside the window, everyone’s nerves are drooping like the edge of a damp parchment, and you endure yawning and suddenly find an interesting part while handing over the military law documents. Carelessly, you spit out words that came to mind straight into your mouth.

“The Scarlet Chorus Law is interesting… Article 4, Honor and Guard the Young. I didn't expect this... They looked like horrible mobs. Does their Archon likes children?”

Then, at the next moment, Callio’s laughter pricks your ears like an awl. As you raise your head, you meet Nunoval’s frowned eyebrows.

“The Archon of Secret likes children?” Nunoval asked as if heard absurd nonsense.

“Well, the heart of Nerat can also be full of love. At least some of them.” Callio’s tone was making fun of you. You don’t know what you’ve done wrong, but your face heats up in shame that you’ve made a mistake. But you try to keep a calm expression.

“Why… Even though the Archon of Secret is notorious, all human hearts are multifaceted. Even bad criminals sometimes care about children, and there are quite a few precedents about them.” You want your statements to be heard not from a naive heart but insights about humans, but you don’t know if it was successful. Either that or not, Nunoval said conclusively.

“The criminals are human. But the Archon of Secrets is not.”

Like a habit, he stroked his rich red beard. “If you meet him, you’ll understand this immediately. He’s one of the most insidious people even in the Imperial Court. Betrayal is his job, and manipulation is his nature. I don’t know what’s in his heart, but at least it’s not affection. Overlord won’t have such a monster by his side if there is a better spymaster. Master Tunon doesn’t look good at him either.”

The ending of words rang in a small room is as strict as a gavel. You feel a strange repulsion to his authoritative tone.

“So why is there such a law? Legislation for their army is each Archon's authority. Having a child in the military has nothing to benefit... The chorus does not lack manpower, and taking children in camps only worsens the army efficiency. Kids are whining, sacking food, slowing army movement, and need someone to raise them..."

"It's a manipulation tool."

Callio, who was listening quietly, said cupping her chin in the right hand. Unlike Nuvoval, she seems to understand humans' multifaceted nature, and you have respected it.

“He is arranging a long game. Scarlet Chorus recruits locals. So there is a need for an incentive to turn a trampled local into a conqueror's army. With a law like that, wouldn't it seem more comfortable, at least for parents, to respond to conscription than to live as a child-bearing refugee? Plus, if parents believe their little ones will be protected in the howling camp, they can fight and die for the Scarlet chorus at their own expense.”

Nunoval nodded with arms folded. Your face burned with unfamiliar shame, and Callio's words were stuck in your eardrum like an ice pick.

“The kids are well raised and used as key personnel of the filthy army. Chorus's notoriety is widespread, but it's also home to the kids who grew up there. Even the monstrous Archon is a benefactor to worship to them. Those kids willingly die for their Archon. Who the hell would die for that freak monster without them?”

There was contempt in Callio's voice. It was a rare contempt for "practicality” for her who was practical and good at hiding her feelings. Callio, in the stage of your mind, slowly comes to eye contact with you. A voice like seeing through the nowhere passion burning black like charcoal in your heart, sounds like an alarm bell. “He's a genius of manipulation. He does not miss usefulness.

That monster knows the key to moving people is not only fear but also love.”

Of course, you know.

How could you don't know, with blood on your hands for him?

But knowing doesn't mean you can stop.

You bring back the memories of that night again. 

That night you were sleeping with your cheeks against a large desk in a huge but desolate barracks with an all-cooled furnace... The smooth texture of the painted wood felt cool. The night was deep and it was quiet everywhere, the sound of a bonfire burning from a distance, the sound of someone's snoring and the cry of night bugs, and the low sobbing of people hanging from the torture pillar waiting for death flowed into the air. Quality candles burning at the edge of the desk neutralize the smell of rotting corpses, so you breathe comfortably. Your body that marched all day was as heavy as cotton wet, and you, wandering the edge of a shallow sleep without dreams, suddenly felt a sense of someone’s presence on you.

The reason you couldn't detect the presence until then was that probably he had no breath. His bloody boots stand a span from your feet, and the bronze mask overlooks your sleeping face from above. As if a small fire came close, the air around you was warm, and your body that had cooled down was relaxed, and maybe the corners of your mouth made a smooth curve.

Then the presence draped over you grew longer as if bowing down, and the warm surface of the softly worn leather gloves touched your cheeks. You feel the gentle touch of your cheeks and forehead and the warmth moving slowly along the line of bones from your ear to your chin, rubbing your scattered hair and touching your auricles. Who of the living knows that he even touches people in this way? Flames emanating from the cracks of the leather gloves tickled your cheeks like a cat's tongue. You knew he had lowered the temperature of the fire to keep you from getting hurt.

When he left, you fell into a deep sleep again, and you waked up with a vast army camp at dawn. What you experienced while sleeping was faint like a dream, you were confused for a moment, but the moment you touched the slightly scorched hair behind your ears, the memories flowed to your consciousness like water.

You pressed hard the left chest that beating like a drum. With the sensation of green gaze in the imagination licking your burning cheeks, your heart started beating madly.

*

Yesterday, Lantry, who had been the Archon's spy, said as he passed. “Those who use tools well also throw away tools well… I’m just saying.”

You nodded. No one doesn't know what's in your eyes looking at the Archon of Secrets.

The day before yesterday, Verse, who had spent a long time near the Archon, approached and whispered. “It wasn't that the chorus didn't have some woman who desired him… Think about where they all are now.”

You also nodded.

Of course, you know.

The blood of others that he caused you to shed has now formed a puddle at your feet. At the top of Cacophony, the tortured corpse of the Forge Bound Master is on display, and her successor will be murdered the day after tomorrow, in your hands.

Perhaps with high probability, at that night, he knew you briefly woke up from a shallow sleep. That is the only plausible explanation you can make. You, who will remember the night, who will lose your discernment by the fever of love and will be blooded like a slave in fantasy and blinded to all the evidence against him… The servant of the court who completely friendly to him, the master of the Spire, a useful piece of chess. How convenient being who you are? How can the Imperial Archon not know the eyes of worship? How many times has the Spymaster of Kyros manipulated other people's desires?

But I am a stupid woman who packs up her bag despite knowing there is a slave document with a blank name under her dear vegetable farmer's box of apples. ‘He loves me,’ ‘He doesn't love me.’ Walking down the road, you muttered taking off the petal of a wildflower. Tearing off the last petal, you said ‘He doesn't love me.’

You stared at the stem without any petals. And you threw it away, saying, "But I love him."


End file.
